Felsong
by Alaric T. Michael
Summary: What drives a mage become a warlock? The story of Felsong as he tells it to his friend Gnick.


In the courtyard it smelled of apple pie. Every Wednesday it did, and every Wednesday Rose was trying to convince herself it was a deliberate (and possibly magical) action by the Scarlet leadership, aimed at raising morale and reminding the people of what they were fighting for. Or, as she often found herself thinking, it was an unintended consequence of the said leadership having apple pies on Wednesdays.

"Where do they get the apples, anyway," she wondered. With the Scourge all around Lordaeron, even couriers to Hearthglen or Stratholme rarely made it. Going to Elwyn would just be a very complex and tiresome suicide. "Probably conjured ones," Rose finally decided. "I wouldn't want them anyway."

Life in the Scarlet Monastery didn't turn out as spectacular as it was supposed to be. Rose got to wear the beautiful red uniform, but the amount of work that went just into maintaining it, was completely unexpected. Nearly all of her "free" time was spend washing, starching and ironing her garments.

The training, that was to transform her into some kind of a Champion of the Light, didn't go too great either. It was quite a bit less glorious than the ideas that lead her to the monastery. The days consisted of waking up before dawn, cleaning the barracks, marching to chow, hours of grueling physical exercises and weapons drills, marching to chow again, endless classes on the history of the Crusade and the theory of undead-slaying, then marching to chow once more, cleaning the barracks and passing out into dreamless sleep, which Rose knew was going to be interrupted for fire watch in the middle of the night.

The worst part about it was that Rose stopped advancing years ago. She did reach a rank of Scarlet Gallant, quite an elite group within its own right, but in the years that followed she could never make it to the next step. Eventually she simply accepted having to remain a Gallant for the rest of her days.

Life was not without its joys, however. The high point of Rose's week consisted of patrolling the library courtyard. There was fresh air, real live plants with beautiful flowers, a fountain and most importantly dogs!

Rose loved dogs. Back at the Fenris Keep, what now seemed like ages ago, she got a puppy for her fourteenth birthday. Rose named him Anduin, in honor of Lord Lothar, and the two of them never parted. Well, that is until the Scourge, and Thule's betrayal, and the flight. Just like his namesake, Anduin didn't make it, and she missed him terribly.

Lost in thought, Rose didn't notice the screams at first. Then, quickly realizing something was wrong, she lifted up her head and stared intensely towards the entrance to the courtyard. The corridor behind the arch was dark and there was no more shouting. Instead she heard a sound of boots on cobblestone. Someone was running very fast towards her. "We are under attack," she concluded with excitement. "Time to put all that training to use!"

"To arms," she yelled at the top of her lungs. "To arms!"

At this moment a mysterious runner had reached the doorway. To Rose's surprise it wasn't an attacking skeleton or some other member of the Scourge. It was just Briah, a Scarlet Adept whom she met a few times in the chow hall. They never exchanged more than a few phrases, but she was inclined to think he looked pretty funny in his uniform. Especially now, as he was was running as fast as he could. "He needs to be outside more," Rose thought. "He is so impossibly pale. And he's missing an arm..."

"Oh..."

Before Rose had a chance to come to terms with this realization, another figure emerged from the gloom of the archway. It was the most terrifying creature Rose has ever seen, and she'd witnessed her fair share of the undead as well as tainted members of other races. A black skinned, oily monstrosity wearing red and gold armor with horns or spikes coming from its back. It carried a gigantic axe, and on its shoulders sat a small head with a toothless grin and tiny yellow eyes, which were lit up with malice.

In a sudden burst of speed the creature smashed itself into the wounded man and with a swing of its axe decapitated him. The head rolled towards her, spewing blood. The monster, without missing a step, advanced onto Rose. She was still looking at the detached head in morbid fascination, but the instincts, hammered into her for years, took over, as she lifted up her shield to meet the attack.

The fiend roared and chopped at the woman. The force of the cleave was so great that neither the shield nor the chain-mail were able to protect the Gallant. Like a broken puppet Rose was thrown against the fountain.

The last thing she felt was the smell of apple pie.

Had she stayed alive a bit longer, she would have noticed an odd pair entering the courtyard after the demon. The man was tall and dressed in purple. He wore no helmet and occasionally a purple discharge of residual magic would sparkle about him. His companion, a lady gnome, was dressed in what seemed somewhat of a ragtag collection of various magical garb. Both were lost in conversation and hardly payed attention to the carnage, which the demon created in the courtyard.

"But, Felsong," said the gnome. "Surely letting a demon loose on these poor souls is not the absolute best course of action. I am grateful for your help," she hastily added, "but perhaps there is a means of retrieving the books other than outright slaughter?"

"Not unless you can sneak around like a thief or a cat," the human replied. "We'd be killing them anyway, so might as well let the demon do it and keep our own hands clean. Also, I am sure they'd prefer to die by his axe rather than having their souls end up in my bag." The warlock shook a small pouch that sounded like it had a bunch of pebbles in it.

The woman shivered. "Granted that," she muttered. "Still, pitting a demon against your own kind seems like something that should not be done lightly."

The warlock chuckled sadly. "Gnick, my friend, do you ever wonder what these people would do to you if they could capture you? Take this scarlet whore for example." In passing he kicked Rose's dead face, breaking her cheekbone. "She would revel at the idea of torturing you to death simply because you do not wear that disgusting red tabard of theirs."

Seemingly looking inward as if trying to recall something, the man continued, "In fact she'd enjoy killing you even if you did. When I was a mage, I once managed to obtain that stupid piece of cloth, but it didn't make any difference with her."

"What?! You were a mage? Impossible!"

Gnick was looking at her friend in disbelief and amazement. "This clearly cannot be!"

"Didn't I ever tell you," the former wizard calmly replied. "I was once a mage just like you. Well, maybe a bit more powerful than you are right now, but you'll get there."

"But you are not a mage right now," the gnome eagerly interrupted.

"You've noticed? That's because I quit. Didn't want any of that useless arcane trickery anymore."

"It's not trickery. And it's not useless either." The woman sounded hurt. "Magic is beautiful. Why would you give it up for this... this..."

"This miserable existence where I do nothing, but inflict suffering all day?"

"Yes!"

"Because, Gnick, that's what life is. Suffering. At least the bigger part of it." The human paused again. "You came into this world through the suffering of your mother. Then you sustained yourself by the agony of plants and animals you ate. In your adventuring years, how much pain have you already caused?"

The gnome shook her head and looked up at her tormentor in horror.

"You are silent." The human noted in a somewhat amused tone of voice. "Why is that, if I may inquire?"

"I didn't just cause pain," Gnick whispered. "I also caused relief and joy, and love."

"And when that love ended, did it not cause pain as well?"

"How would you know?!"

"I wouldn't," the warlock's voice was suddenly warm and reassuring. "Calm down, friend, for me this is just theory. It's common knowledge that evil wizards are incapable of feeling love."

"Really? That's pretty sad." The woman's anger passed quickly. She was now feeling sorry for her companion. "In any event, you are wrong."

"Am I?" The warlock seemed genuinely pleased with the conversation. His demon had already finished its bloody task and was now walking beside him. With no room for it on the cobblestone path, it was treading on the grass, stomping out flowers without as much as noticing them. The glowing eyes of the creature stared into nothingness.

"Yes," said the mage firmly. "You are wrong because even though we all hurt somebody at times, it also matters how and why we do it."

"Let's see then. A paladin would kill these idiots here because they are a threat to peace and justice. He would judge them to be evil, smite them with the so called holy light, and hit them with a hammer. He would take his time doing it too. It would be just as painful for them and just as deadly in the end. I, on the other hand, kill them because they are pests. I also do it much faster, so while the result is the same, death comes quicker with me. Does it still sound bad to you?"

The little caster seemed to be genuinely troubled by the cynicism of her friend. "Your motives also matter," she uttered, but without much conviction.

"Not to them. Not as they take their last breath."

"Was it this... this philosophy that made you abandon the arcane and embrace the... you know... the Fel?"

"Of course not. I was only able to put this into words much later."

"What was it then?"

The man paused for a while. Just as the gnome was about to urge him to speak again, he continued in a quiet, sad tone. "Because magic failed." The words were followed by another long pause. "I was growing more powerful with every day, I could enter Medivh's tower at will, I spoke to dragons and faced off with ancient gods. In my travels I visited the entire known world and not just that of our own. Yet... with every effort of mine, the scale of my failure became more and more obvious. Ha! Forget the others, I couldn't even help myself and... and I realized that life wasn't fair and that the arcane faltered as much as any other force, be it the light or the force of nature."

"Everyone fails sometime. I know this is not going to make you feel any better, but it's not like it was your own fault."

"I don't feel bad." The man managed a faint smile. "Not anymore. And you are right it was not my fault. It was the fault of the arcane. Its power failed me when I needed it the most. You see, when a paladin or a druid fail, they accept it because they know the powers of the light or nature cannot be magnified, they simply are what they are. I, on the other hand, knew that the arcane can have limitless potential."

"True, but we can't wield such power. No one can."

"Right. Our bodies are only able to channel a small fraction of it. So I searched for another force, which could satisfy my needs. Oddly enough, one of those repulsive Blood Elves showed me the way. Did you ever see a mage fight a warlock?"

The gnome nodded unhappily, clearly recalling something unpleasant.

"After I recovered, I renounced my ways and went on to study demonology. Oh and I found that dirty elf and made sure he regretted our earlier encounter."

"I... am not sure what to make of all this. I need time to think."

"Sure. Thinking is good. Just remember none of this means you have to become a warlock like me. Mages have their uses as well. For example, it would be very convenient if you could open up a portal to Stormwind right now, because I think I just found the book you need."

"Yes! Yes you did! Thank you!" The little caster was glad to both get her hands on the tome and to change topics.

In a few moments a shining doorway to the human capital was spinning in midair and Gnick jumped right through, eager to return the rare manuscript to the awaiting librarian.

Felsong stayed, however. He knew that the portal was not powerful enough to handle him, and smiled as he imagined how he'll be making fun of Gnick for that.

He ruffled through the bookshelves some more, but didn't notice anything of interest. After lingering for a few moments and letting out a sigh, the warlock retraced his steps back to the courtyard. There he silently stood in front of Rose's body for a few minutes.

"How much I hate you," he whispered. "If you only had any idea just how much I hate you..." He looked at her some more, then pulled a tattered scarlet tabard from his backpack and threw it over the corpse's face. "Here. I don't need this anymore."

The ground around him erupted in hellish flames and he watched them quickly consume the body, the nearby flowers and even a chunk of the stone fountain. Despite starting on fire himself, he let the spell run its course until only soot and molten rock remained.

"This is a better burial than you deserve."

He took a deep breath.

"Bye, Rose."


End file.
